Not a Nice Man To Know: The Best of Khushwant Singh

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Not a Nice Man To Know: The Best of Khushwant Singh

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Overview

The essential Khushwant Singh collection.

In an essay in this anthology, Khushwant Singh claims that he is not a nice man to know. Whatever the truth of that assertion, there is little question about his skill as a witty, eloquent and entertaining writer. This book collects the best of over three decades of the author's proseamp;mdash;including his finest journalistic pieces, short stories, translations, jokes, plays as well as excerpts from his non-fiction books and novels. Taken together, the pieces in this selection (some of which have never been published before) show just why Khushwant Singh is the country's most widely read columnist and one of its most celebrated authors.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940169153217
Publisher:	Penguin Random House
Publication date:	10/01/2018
Edition description:	Unabridged

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Read an Excerpt

EL PATRÓN

By Lee Paul Fry

iUniverse LLC

CHAPTER 1

At just past midnight, Bradley Vincent stood on Jody Munslow's front porch bouncing the little box with the engagement ring from hand to hand. He shifted his weight and rocked on his heels. Coyotes yipped in the summertime night. He felt moisture on his forehead, and his shirt stuck to his back. It was 1952, and air-conditioning couldn't make its way out of the big-city department stores and into small-town South Texas any too soon for him. He smoothed his hair and checked to make sure his shirt was still tucked in. He tapped on her door.

It opened a crack, and there she stood. She was tall, but he was a bit taller. Her large, brown eyes were wide, glancing nervously behind him.

"Get yourself in here," Jody whispered. "No telling who's watching." After he was inside, she locked the door and turned back to him. "Damn, I've missed you."

Brad couldn't see much better in her living room than he could in the moonlight outside. But he could see enough after she let her robe fall away. He marveled at her body, covered by a silk nightshirt and panties. That's the way she stood in his dreams. Beautiful and passionate. Hips thrust forward just so.

Her gaze held his.

The voice he found was husky. "We need to talk."

"Now, Brad, you know the rules. First, we ravish each other. Then, when we catch our breath, we talk."

He put a hand between her legs, and she gasped. He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.

* * *

Afterward, the spent lovers sat on a couch in Jody's bedroom. He in his shirt and jeans, and she in a blue bathrobe. His heart burst with love for her.

She took a doughnut from a tray on the coffee table. "Okay, what was it you couldn't wait to discuss?"

"It slipped my mind."

"Look, Brad, it's late. Let's hear it."

"You want some more coffee?"

"This is silly. Obviously you've got something on your mind. Have you found someone else?"

"You know better than that."

"That's the problem," she said. "I do."

"That's the problem?"

"I didn't mean it the way it came out. But it would be better if you did. We're not going anywhere as a couple."

He snapped his fingers and then dug the small box from his pocket. "You reminded me. I've got a little something for you. Open it."

With a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, she took the box from his hand and opened it. Then she removed the ring and held it up to the light. "Oh, Brad. It's lovely."

"It is, isn't it?"

"You can't afford something like this. I'll pay for it."

"No need," he said, grinning. "I stole it."

"Then I'll call the police."

He took the ring and slipped it onto the third finger of her left hand. "A wife can't testify against her husband."

Clearly stunned, she spread her fingers and looked at the ring as though it might leave a permanent stain on her skin. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"So serious I'm not about to take no for an answer."

"We've only known each other three months."

"The best three months of my life."

"You just graduated high school."

"I'm making As in college."

"I'm old enough to be your mother."

"I'm old enough to be your husband."

"Not by my count."

"But I love you."

"I love you too, Brad. What woman wouldn't, after the things we've shared?"

"So you'll marry me?"

She crossed her arms in front of her lower chest and turned away. "Of course not. There's so much more."

"Like?"

"Like Sam White. You know I'm his favorite girlfriend."

It was common knowledge that Sam White ruled this part of South Texas. His word was law. A law it was dangerous to break.

"Well, you're not his girlfriend anymore," he said. "From here on out, you're going to be my wife."

"Brad, you're crazy. He'll kill us both. Stop and think."

"Think? Thinking's got nothing to do with it. It's just you and me from now on."

She took one of his hands. "Brad. Brad, look at me. The way it is between you and me isn't the way it is with anyone else. I've never experienced anything like it. By definition, you haven't either. You're just seventeen. I've been married twice, which is enough. Be thankful for what we've had."

"I am. I just don't want it to end."

She put a hand on his leg. "You're such a dear. You see the world through the eyes of a big, handsome guy—not the way it is. Time hasn't yet tempered your arrogance. You've got so much to learn. And Sam. I'm telling you, he's scary."

"I'll talk to Sam. He was like a second father to me growing up. When I tell him how it is between you and me, he'll understand."

"One thing's sure," she said. "Until it's too late, you won't."

"You wear the ring. I'll take care of Sam."

"It wouldn't make any difference if the good Lord took care of Sam with a meteorite. We're still not getting married. You'd better leave."

"The only thing I'm going to do is finish that pot of coffee."

She brushed away a tear and stood. "Okay, Brad. Pour yourself another cup. I've got some business to take care of."

Brad followed her into the kitchen, where he found her on the phone. "Marlene, this is Jody Munslow. Find Sheriff Burns. Send him to my house. Now."

"This is crazy, Jody," Brad said as she cradled the phone. "Why are you doing this? Call her back and tell her you were spooked by your neighbor's cat. Tell her everything's okay."

She pursed her lips as if to speak. Then she exhaled and shook her head. Like someone who'd said it all.

But Brad had more to say. He was just getting ready to start in on her when he was interrupted by a series of jarring knocks at the front door. That'd be the sheriff. He must have been in a patrol car outside, wondering what to do about the guy in the boss's girl's house when he got Jody's message on his radio.

Brad recognized Sheriff Burns's voice. "Miss Jody, this is Clyde. Open the door."

Jody unlocked the door, and three large men wearing tan uniforms and Stetson hats came in. Of course, everything leather—boots, belts, and holsters—was hand-tooled. Sheriff Clyde Burns was the leader, and he looked the part. Fiftyish, with a trimmed mustache and gray eyes, he filled out his uniform with muscle.

Sheriff Burns looked first at Brad and then at Jody. "What kind of problem do we have here, Miss Jody?"

"No problem, Clyde," she said as if Brad weren't in the room. "Just a lovesick boy who's had one beer too many and doesn't know how to take no for an answer. He wants me to date him."

"Date him or adopt him?" one of the deputies said with a snicker.

"He thinks he's in love," she said. "He tried to give me this ring. I want you to tell him it's late. That it's time for him to go home. I wouldn't want Mr. White to get the wrong idea."

The sheriff's face clouded. "Has he tried to do anything other than talk? Anything improper?"

"Not a thing," she said. "He's been a well-mannered boy. He just thinks he's in love and won't go home."

Brad's world spun. It was one thing to have a proposal rejected in private—quite another to be ridiculed by the woman you love in front of others.

One of the deputies approached him sneering. "Well, well, Mr. Quarterback. Mr. High School hotshot. A sissy afraid to get on the football field with the big college boys. Nothing but a chickenshit bookworm." He paused a beat. "You don't even know who I am, do you?"

"No, Mr. Nobody, I don't. And I'd like to keep it that way."

"Fine with me," the deputy said, putting a hand on Brad's shoulder. "We're going to take you home to mama. Don't start crying."

Brad welcomed the fury that overcame him. It was almost pleasant. He slapped the hand away so hard it spun the deputy partially around. "Put your hand on me again, and I'll break your arm. I know where the door is."

The deputy swung a wild haymaker at Brad, who casually moved his head back just enough to let the fist pass by his chin. Then he put all his frustration and strength into a clean uppercut that left only two lawmen standing.

The other deputy went for his gun, but Brad beat him to it and used it to club him senseless. In the same motion, Brad turned to face the charging sheriff and dropped to a knee to let the man flip over him and into the wall. The lawman was struggling to his feet when Brad knocked him to the ground with the deputy's gun.

Brad wasn't even breathing hard when he turned back to Jody. He had a sarcastic, clever speech ready to deliver. Ready, that is, until she smashed a bottle of wine over his head.

CHAPTER 2

The next morning Brad lay on a cot in the county jail trying to wake up. The details weren't clear. He did remember coming around in the squad car sometime last night after Jody kayoed him with that wine bottle. That's when he should have kept quiet but didn't. Next, the deputies put him back out with a good, old-fashioned beating.

Brad cringed when he thought about Jody belittling him in front of the sheriff and his men. More than anything, he would have liked a mask and a one-way bus ticket to anywhere.

Everything hurt. Brad had almost worked up the nerve to open his eyes when the earthquake hit, throwing him off the cot onto the concrete floor with a bone-jarring thud. Flat on his back, he looked up and saw Mr. Nobody. It hadn't been battling seismic plates that had rolled him off his bunk, after all. It was just the deputy's version of a wake-up call.

"Off your ass and on your feet," the lawman said through swollen lips, with a lisp he hadn't had last night. Bastard, lost a front tooth, Brad thought. Then the man went on. "You've got company."

It was a struggle, but Brad finally managed to get vertical. "No one can see me like this."

"Oh, but they can. I'm bringing your folks in."

Looking pleased with himself, Mr. Nobody soon returned, escorting Brad's parents and carrying two folding metal chairs, which he placed in Brad's cell. "Okay, hotshot, your visitors are here. When you want me, hit the buzzer."

It was the middle of the week, but both of Brad's parents were dressed like they were going to church. Old pictures proved that his mother had once been pretty. But no more. Now she was a dumpy, medium-height disappointment with a new permanent that made her brown-gray hair look like an undersized crash helmet.

Then there was his father. Standing tall, holding his Sunday hat in a callused hand, and wearing freshly pressed Levi's, a sports coat, and polished cowboy boots, he looked like what he was. A prosperous, middle-aged, Anglo rancher.

Clearly, neither parent was prepared for the scene before them. Not the jail; not the odor of yesterday's wine coming from their son; and not a Brad who looked like someone who'd been dragged behind a car down a mile of gravel road. They'd seen him beat up before. Football was a contact sport. They'd seen him limping in a cast. They'd seen stitches in his face. But nothing like this.

Brad's father broke the silence. "Damn, son. We didn't even know you were in town. It's been, what? Two months since we saw you? We heard what happened last night."

Brad hugged his mother and took his father's hand. "You guys be gentle. Everything's sore."

Then, the three of them sat. Brad on the bunk while his parents used the folding chairs.

Mrs. Vincent's voice was pedantic and prim. "Bradley, Zapata, Texas, is a small town. You're a sports hero from a prominent family. Everyone in the country knows who Sam White is, and everyone in South Texas knows that Jody Munslow is his mistress. Everything about you three is news. There's not a person in the county who doesn't know what happened at that woman's house last night."

Well, not everything, Brad thought. Not what happened in Jody's bed before the law arrived. And maybe Jody's right. If that comes out, no telling what Sam might do.

"I hear you handled the three of them until the woman's sneak attack," Brad's father said with what looked like a mixture of pride and envy.

Then no one spoke. This was how they were as a family unit. Brad's mother usually said the wrong thing, and his father was reticent to the point of paralysis. Brad was frustrated with both of them. When it counted—when their backs were to the wall—the silence screamed.

Watching his father unconsciously mangle the brim of his dress Stetson with muscular hands, Brad felt the man had something he wanted to get off his chest. Finally, hat begging for mercy, the big rancher cleared his throat and forced out a halting, clumsy preamble. "Son, there're some things you need to hear. Some things I should have told you before, but I couldn't find the time."

Next, the older man stopped and stared at a fascinating spot on the floor while his face colored, and a few tiny droplets of sweat popped out on his forehead. Finally, barely audible, he went on. "Well, son, let me back up. Time really isn't the problem. I've had a world of time. It's just hard to say some things on the phone. And I wanted to wait until you got a little older. Well, that's not quite right, either. To be honest, I find what I need to talk to you about is a little embarrassing. A little unpleasant. Well, more than a little unpleasant. Probably 'humiliating' would be the best word. No telling how many times I've picked up the phone the last few weeks." Then the rancher threw himself on the mercy of the court. "But who am I trying to kid? If this business with Sam's girlfriend hadn't come up, I wouldn't be talking now. I'm ashamed of myself."

Brad wanted to hide his face. He didn't know whether to put his arms around the man to comfort him or grab him by the shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattled. Why didn't he just spit it out?

Playing for time, Brad held his hands palms up and looked around the cell. It probably hadn't seen a broom in weeks. Dead insects and yesterday's stubbed-out cigarettes found welcoming neighborhoods where the walls met the floor. The corners were even worse. "Hell, Pop, it can't be as bad as the mess I've made of things. Whatever it is, the two of us can work it out. Let's hear it. What've you got on your mind?"

"I'm trying, but it catches in my throat. I've even thought of writing you a letter."

"John, I don't know what's come over you," Brad's mother said. "You don't have anything to be ashamed of. Sam White used his court to steal the family ranch."

"You can't just steal a ranch," Brad said. "What are you talking about, Mom?"

When she didn't respond, Brad looked at his father. "Okay, Pop. Out with it. What's going on?"

Demonstrating an uncanny ability to make anything confusing, Brad's mother changed subjects. "Sam White and his first wife were our best friends when we were younger. But Sam seems to have changed."

The father, clearly accustomed to disjointed dialogue, shook his head and let out a pent-up lungful of air. Then he turned a bland face to his wife and spoke without a trace of sarcasm. "I don't think Sam has changed. He's always been unprincipled. We just didn't know it then. And I don't think he was ever a friend. He just wanted the ranch."

Brad was flabbergasted by this conversation. He felt like screaming, but he kept his voice even. "Okay, that's enough. Let's hear about the ranch."

The man was like a wild pony cornered in a pen. Eyes wide. Nose flared. Ears back. No place to run. The words came in a rush. "Sam White cheated us out of twenty thousand acres. He now owns the ten miles of the San Juan River that run on the ranch, along with its headwaters. Everything. And his court said it was legal."

"Pop, that can't be. That's been Vincent land for over a hundred years."

"Well, it's not anymore. Sam White took it. He owns all the judges. He's tried to buy it from me for years, but I wouldn't sell. So he took it with a counterfeit deed that his court supported. They don't call him the Duke of De Leon County for nothing."

Mrs. Vincent spoke again. "Things could be worse. Sam is going to let your father ranch the land lease-free. Our living standard won't change. We'll still be able to help you with college. And he let us keep the old home place and ten acres. It's all going to work out."

Brad recognized the mother he'd known all his life. Someone who never looked beyond next week's church social. Mrs. Short-Term and unflappable. He loved her, but she was a goose.

Brad loved his father too, but the man wasn't a warrior. Otherwise he'd have looked the Duke in the eye and told him if he put one foot on his property, he'd shoot it off.

Brad kept his voice even. He didn't have to feign compassion. "There has to be some kind of appeal process, Pa. Sam can't get away with this."

(Continues...)

Excerpted from EL PATRÓN by Lee Paul Fry. Copyright © 2014 Lee Paul Fry. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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